The Well of Desire
by Carsten
Summary: A Witch Hunter and the daughter of a heretic must join forces to confront the dark secrets of her father's past.
1. Chapter 1

The Well of Desire

Chapter 1

Into the Fire

The horse clopped along the dirt trading path that led to the city of Salkalten near the Ostland coast. The massive beast bore a rider on the dark evening into the tiny Ostland village of Windhaven. The village of Windhaven was small, even by Imperial standards. Staying within the Forest of Shadows, it was off the main road that connected Salkalten to Ferlangen, and did little in the way of trade except for supplying lumber for new building projects whenever a decree was issued by the Grand Prince, Valmir von Raukov. The man that rode into the sleepy little town of Windhaven that evening was dressed in a long black duster with a wide brimmed black hat, tugged low over his features to keep the sun from his eyes. Jutting from the back of his duster, the scabbard of a rapier pointed that this was no simple pilgrim or traveler. When he rode up to the only inn in the village, he tied his horse off to a hitching post and quietly moved inside, brown military boots tapping on the floorboards of the inn as he opened the door. The typical noisome tavern grew silent as the townsmen who took their supper there turned to see who was joining them and none recognized him.

He moved quietly to the bar. The innkeep gave a wary look to several of the men who seemed ready to throw this dark stranger out, but shook his head for now before approaching the man.

"What can I get you stranger?" Asked the innkeeper.

"Water and some of the mutton you have roasting." The man said in a gravelly voice. He tipped his head up to regard the innkeeper as he slipped two silver coins across the bar. More than enough to pay for the simple fare that he'd asked for. The innkeeper looked at the coins for a moment and then nodded slowly, taking them.

"You uh... come in from Salkalten?" The innkeeper asked, returning a minute later with the water.

"Yes." The stranger stated quietly. He accepted the water and sipped it as he waited. The innkeeper's wife came from the back, a metal platter in hand as she set it along with a knife and two tined fork before the man. She gave him a fearful look before retreating to the kitchen.

"We uh... don't get many visitors from Salkalten. Heh." Said the innkeeper, giving a small nervous laugh. By now the inn had mostly gone back to their own conversations, though at a much lower volume so they could still overhear.

"I am not from Salkalten. I am only most recently departed from there." The man said quietly.

"Well uh... what's your business in Windhaven then? We don't exactly get many travelers here." The innkeeper asked, trying to keep his voice level. The stranger cocked an eyebrow under the brim of his hat.

"My business is my own, suffice to say, I am looking for someone... or something. I do not know which yet." He said quietly.

Whispers darted around from table to table. 'Witch.' 'Heretic.' 'Chaos.' 'Cultist.' were all thrown around hurriedly in a hushed tone.

"Well... we uh.. we don't have what you're looking for here I'll wager. So I will ask you to kindly finish your meal and be on your way." The innkeeper said, setting his chin in a show of bravado.

"I'll finish and leave when I have completed my duty and my search. Neither you, nor any of the men in this village will stop me either." The stranger said cooly, quietly cutting up his mutton and eating a piece at a time.

"Well how do you figure that? There's only one of you and a whole village of us." The innkeeper said. Wood slid over wood as stools and chairs were pushed aside and men rose to their feet in preparation for throwing this wanderer out.

"Because it is a crime to interfere with the work of the Grand Theogonist, on whose orders I am operating. And even if you were heretics one and all, I would be forced by my office to kill you. If you managed to drag me down, I am reasonably sure that the Grand Theogonist would order a purge of the entire village of Windhaven that soldiers from Ostland would be glad to carry out. So you see, interfering with my mission is to warrant your own deaths. Now or later is merely a matter of semantics." The stranger said, sliding his duster aside. The long overcoat shifted and attached to his shoulder were twin purity seals. The mark of a witch hunter.

The innkeeper blanched and several men, overhearing the small speech, took a step back. The stranger raised a rather thin hand and tugged his hat down a bit once more as he returned to eating his mutton. The tavern slowly returned to its previous level of noise, but everyone kept an eye on the Witch Hunter. He was there hunting for someone, and all in the little village of Windhaven had a suspicion of who it was.

Isolde beat the hot iron bar. Slowly bending it into a U-shape. When it was bent right, the female blacksmith stuck it in the forgefire. While it reheated, the dark haired woman pumped the bellows , the red glow lighting the dim smithy. Taking the white hot bar out of the fire, she moved to the anvil, laying the bar over a chistle shaped piece of metal. Several swift blows to the bar and the hot iron fell to the floor, where she picked it up with tongs.

Examining it with a critical eye, she straightened it with a few blows on the anvil before tossing it in a large barrel of water with a hissing cloud of steam. She shoved the rest of the bar in the forge, pumping the bellow several times before walking to the entrance of the shop where she took a tin cup, filled it with water and drank. Sighing as she cool liquid ran down her partched throat.

She looked out over the village, watching the sun in the distant sky. After awhile, she turned with a sigh, wiping her sooty face with a grimy glove and walked back inside. The young woman pumped the bellows again, the renewed firelight illuminating her pretty, but dirty face and broad shoulders. Muscle rippled in her arms as she took a broader piece of iron from the forge and taking it to the anvil, began to beat on it again. Filling the shop with the iron clang of a blacksmith.

His meal finished, the Witch Hunter stood and left the inn without another word. Eyes kept after him cautiously, and more than a few men left behind him, curious as to where he was going in the next part of his search. He unhitched his horse and handed it off to a boy who looked related to the innkeeper, ordering that the animal be stabled and fed. He gave the boy a few brass coins before walking off through the town. The claning of iron against iron rang through the town like a toll of a bell. It led the dark cloaked stranger toward the smithy.

"May Sigmar bless you." He said loudly by way of a greeting.

The sun shone in, illuminating her. She was strongly built, dressed in simple leather pants and apron, both grimy and scarred from forgework. The young woman strode to him, taking off her gloves. "Be with you in a moment." she said, steppeing outside to dunk her head in the rainbarrel. Coming back up, she wiped her face, pressing the water from her hair as she turns to dry her face with an old towel. "How can I help you? Need to have your horse shoed?" she asked, wiping off face and arms. The brand of a heretic dark on her shoulder.

The man shook his head. "I am here searching for Isolde von Kessler. I believe that is you." He stated casually as he stood before her.

Narrowing her eyes slightly, she looked closer at him. "I'm Isolde. Who are you?" She asked, walking past him to begin pumping the bellows.

"I am Carsten van der Kerk. And I am here to inquire about your father and his associates." The stranger said, identifying himself with a cant of his head.

She stiffened, shot him a hard look before taking the glowing piece of iron from the forge. Taking it to the anvil she began beating it, forming it into a broad axe like blade. "Ask away. I'm sure if you asked anyone in the village, they'd be more than willing to talk about the heretic and her family." She said, slamming the hammer into the metal with a steady beat.

Carsten raised his gaze toward her, finally staring at her. One crystal blue eye stared at her, the other covered with a patch, a ragged scar running down the side of his face and crossing his left eye. "You bear no taint of the dark powers. You are no more a heretic than the piece of metal you're hammering at. But your father most certainly was, and unfortunately the Sigmarite priest who condemned your father and his conspirators failed to clean up after them properly. That is why I am here." He said firmly.

She stopped hammering, turning to face him. With the hammer, she touched the brand on her shoulder. "That says I am tainted, or suspected to be." She met his gaze with more than a little bitterness. "Ask anyone around here. I'm lucky I wasn't killed as a heretic. Instead they were nice enough to brand me and let me live." Isolde spat into the forge as she put the metal back in it.

"I am not interested in the opinion of peasants. I have work to be done and it requires your aid. Now will you give it voluntarily or will I have to force the issue?" Carsten asked politely and calmly. He wasn't above threats of force, mostly because they weren't empty.

Isolde sighed, turning to the forge and pumping the bellows. "What do you want to know? Dadda did not tell me much of his.. thing. For which I am glad, thank Sigmar," she looked at him, removing the partially made axehead to resume shaping it with skillful blows of the hammer.

"No, but I need someone who can give me a clear picture of what happened, and more importantly where it happened. All without constantly twisting the facts to point to you. I doubt you'd incriminate yourself and I do not doubt that everyone else in this village would waste any time doing exactly that." He said with a cocked eyebrow. "So, I need your help specifically." He said.

She sighed, stopping, the hammer on the metal. "Sigmar's balls... " Sighing again, she turned to face him. "Can you talk over a hammer for ten minutes? I'd like to finish roughing it out before I stop for the night. I get little enough work as it is here."

He nodded. "Very well, it is a small price to pay for gaining your help, and I do not believe that you have heard the full tale of what is going on here." He said with a sharp nod. He moved toward a small bench, meant for setting out finished pieces awaiting pickup. He pulled a rather large pipe from a pocket inside of his jacket and stuffed a bit of tobacco into it. With that, he pulled out a small taper and stuck it to the hot coals, just enough to light it before sticking it into the end of his pipe to light it. Relaxing, he puffed the pipe and sat down on the bench. "Your father was a confirmed heretic. As were his conspirators. That much is certain and attested to by the Priest of Sigmar that tends to this village from Ferlangen." He started and puffed out a small smoke ring.

Isolde resumed hammering the iron. Shaping it into an axe. Between the ringing blows, she glanced up at him. When the metal cooled, she stuck it in the forge, pumping the bellows. When the metal was hot, she took it out and resumed pounding it.

"What is not certain or at all attested to is that they were all rounded up, or that they were caught before finishing whatever work they began. Tell me. Did you father keep a journal?" He asked her over the occasional ringing of the hammer as he sat back and puffed another smoke ring.

She shook her head. The hammer ringing on the iron. "Dadda couldn't read. Neither could Mamma. Dadda's brother could though," she said, holding up the metal for a closer examination. Nodding, she set it down and hit it several more times before returning it to the forge. "Not many read, other than simple letters and numbers. 'Life's too hard to waste time on fripperies', Mamma always said."

"One of the conspirators. And did your uncle keep a journal?" He asked her over the constant rythmic smash of hammer on iron.

Isolde shrugged, removing the axe head, setting it on the anvil, she swung the hammer, shaping the edge. Each blow spreading the hot metal into the shape she desired. "I don't know. Uncle was closed mouthed. He never liked talking unless he was telling someone what to do" Holding the axe up, she examined it, turning it this way and that. She struck the iron several more times before plunging it in the quenching barrel. Sending up a hissing cloud of steam.

When she pulled it out, the outline of a beared axe was recognizable. The young woman nodded in satisfaction as she set the piece aside. She took the horseshoe from the tub as well. Dropping both on the table beside the Witch Hunter.

"The Sigmar priest searched his house, you can look if you want. No one's been in it snce they were condemned and burned," she said, stripping off her gloves as she walked outside to the barrel and washed her face and arms. Once clean of soot and sweat, her fresh face shown in the sun as she walked back into her shop.

"Then you will help me look." He said with a nod as she returned. "And if we find something you will help me interpret any clues that can be gleaned from it." He said with a sharp nod.

"Now?" Isolde asked, pouring water carefully around the edge of the forgefire. She looked at the Witch Hunter with a dubious gaze as she cleaned up the smithy. Setting the hammers and tongs on the benches or by the anvil.

He nodded. "Heresy does not wait. Nor do the dark powers of Chaos. We must pursue them as quickly as possible. It is regrettable that it has gone this long before being investigated, and I can only pray to Sigmar that the trail has not gone cold already." He said, standing as he stepped outside of the smithy and waited for her. He exhaled smoke into the dark evening air, the sun finally having set behind the trees and casting the long eerie shadows of twilight.

Isolde sighed. "Let me change first. Walking around in the dark in my apron and pants isn't suitible," she replied. Quickly washing hands, arms and face, she vanished into a small room above the forge. Only to reappear several minutes later dressed in a rough linen tunic covered by a leather vest, leather pants and worn but sturdy boots. Her hair had been combed out and braided and the ends of the braids touched just below her shoulders. In her hands she held an axe. The head wide and curved. A knife and hammer hung from a belt wrapped around her waist. "Let's go." She said, closing the smithy doors behind her. "Might as well ruin what's left of my reputaton," the girl muttered.

"I assure you, doing the work of the Grand Theogonist can only enhance your reputation." He said with a firm nod as the strode across the village and found the house of her uncle. It was still marked by the heresy order nailed to the door and sealed with the red wax impressed seal of the priest of Sigmar that ministered to Windhaven. Carsten ignored the order to never open the door to the home and stepped inside, looking around. From under his duster he produced a pistol, moving around from room to room in the rather small village house. Satisfied that the house was unoccupied, he proceeded to find a lamp, lighting it with a taper lit from his pipe.

Holding the axe on one hand, the well built young woman followed him. She paused at the threshold of the door, swallowing nervously before entering. Feeling the eyes of the villagers on her back.

Inside, she pointed out a few lamps. The villagers having never ransacked the house after heresy had been declared on the occupants.

In fact, more than a few villagers, similarly armed, stepped forward, forming a semi-circle around the home. The light of the lantern illuminated the small cottage. "Now we have to search. Look for anything out of the ordinary. You'll likely find something before me." He told her.

Isolde looked out a window, tapping the Witch Hunter's arm and pointed. "Sir. They're watching," she said before startng a search of the house. Figuring they obvious places had been looked through, she began at the fireplace, tapping and prying at the flagstones and mantle, and then inside the fireplace itself.

"Let them watch. If they try to interfere, I'll execute them for interfering with the Grand Theogonist's work. I warned them of that already." He said as he moved near the bed and got down on all fours, searching underneath.

The girl shivered as a chill ran along her spine. "I don't think they will unless somethng bad happens in here. You're safe.. You don't live here. I do," she said in a quiet voice, tapping the hilt of her knife against each stone in the fireplace she could reach.

"Well never mind them, keep looking." He said, looking under tables to see if perhaps there was a cabinet concealed under the table or the chairs in the small section where her uncle must have eaten.

She frowned as a stone moved fractionally at a tap, the mortar seeming to be loose. In the back of the fireplace. Digging the point of her knife nto it, she pried the stone out, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter. Inside the hole, Isolde found several rolled up sheets of paper. Which she carefully pulled out and unrolled."Sir!" She said, turning and holding the sheets up. "I found something."

He turned and jerked upright, crossing toward the fireplace. He stretched out his hand to take the sheets, his eyes scanning them as he read them over. Some contained diagrams, one seemed to be a crude map. "Yes... As I feared, your family did not plan this entirely by themselves and did not conduct their business here in the village. They must have been very overconfident when they were finally apprehended and brought to the gallows. Or drunk." He said as he read over one particular journal entry. He blinked as he found embedded in the text a small symbol. "My saddlebags. Come. I must study this in further detail." He said, finding no more use for searching the house.

She handed them to him as soon as he reached for them. Glad to have them out of her grasp. At his words, she nodded. Grabbing her axe, she headed outside, taking a lamp with her for the light. Outside she stopped, holding the lamp high. "I'm with the Witch Hunter. He opened the door. In Sigmar's name. He requested me to help him look in the house," she said in a loud clear voice as several men raised their axes and hammers.

"Well the priest o' Sigmar put up that there decree that nobody is supposed to be goin' in that house. You goin' in there and messin' about is going to bring down problems on this village. Problems we don't need." Sneered one of the men, holding a large two headed axe. A large black beard dominated his face as the lumberjack stepped forward. "Guess the call o' yer blood was just too much wasn't it heretic?" He snarled at her.

Carsten stepped out after her, closing the door behind him. He held his pistol in one hand and the papers in the other as he moved out and fixed a steely glare at the crowd.

"Disperse. On the authority of the Grand Theogonist, I order it." He narrowed his eyes as he gave the order.

Isolde glared at the man. "Olaf, you ass! You know I had nothing to do with that. The Witch Hunter asked me to help and you don't refuse a Witch Hunter, idiot!" She shouted, shaking a fist at the man. "You know that! All of you know that.

"Do we girl? Do we know this is really a witch hunter? Do we know that you had nothin' to do with it? You got a mark on you. Now you know what I think? I think you've just waited for things to die down. For the priest to go away and for night to fall so you can sneak into your uncle's old house and pick up where he and that bastard heretic, your father, left off. Well we're gonna keep you here, ya see? Keep you nice and cozy while we wait for the priest to come back next season and then HE'LL tell us what to do." The large bear of a man said with a nod. The small crowd of villagers grunted and voiced their consent with that plan.

With a swift motion and a click, Carsten leveled the barrel of his pistol aimed at the man's head. "I warned you once. If you do not disperse, I will have to execute you for hindering the work of the Grand Theogonist and ensure that your friends, your kin, are killed or investigated for heresy and treason." Carsten said with a cold tone in his voice. His ice blue eye glared at Olaf's dark bearded face.

Isolde's hands clenched and she trembled with rage. "You.. pig sucking... whoreson! It's been six cursed months since that happened. I wasn't there! Sigmar's balls Olaf! Get the keeper of the shrine. He can vouch for the Witch Hunter. If I was going to do that, I'd have done it long ago rather than stay in this village." She snarled, face red with surpressed anger at the mistrust and suspicion.

"Oh we'll get the keeper. After we drag you two into irons and lock you in root cellar until the priest of Sigmar comes back." Olaf snarled menacingly and moved another step forward. Carsten's pistol discharged with a crack. Olaf staggered for a moment, and then fell backward as he died. The rest of the group looked stunned as Carsten glared down at the corpse and his gun let smoke drift out of the barrel from the discharge.

"I find you guilty of interfering with the work of a Witch Hunter on his mission to destroy the powers of Chaos. For this, Olaf of the village of Windhaven, you are executed. May Sigmar have mercy on your soul that we cannot afford to show you here on earth." Carsten said darkly before turning to the remaining villagers. He drew his rapier. "Who's next?" He asked.

They all jumped at the crack of the pistol. Isolde's face went white as Olaf staggered then fell. She looked back at the Witch hunter, then ran to Olaf, dropping her axe to roll the big man over. Only to fall back with a gasp at the red hole in his face. Covering her mouth with a shakey hand, she backed up , scrapng her backside on the ground., "You killed him..." She whispered. the men surged back in shock, some glaring, others in shock, but slowly they left until it was just the girl, the Witch Hunter and the body on the street.

"The Dark Powers of Chaos will not delay themselves. His ignorance and pride killed him for standing in the way of a hunter. I am tasked with rooting out heresy and destroying Chaos wherever it exists. I do not have time to waste only for a priest of Sigmar to arrive and set us free sometime in the middle of next season. It is bad enough that this has waited this long. We do not need to wait months just for a priest to verify my identity." He said with a sharp tone. "Pick up your axe and let us move on. We have work to do and so do the villagers preparing a funeral for their friend here." Carsten said without remorse as he strode forward and walked toward the livery stables, intent on retrieving his reference books from his saddlebags.

Slowly she picked up her axe as she got to her feet to follow him. Catching up to him near the inn, she tugged at his coar sleeve. "Sir, I cannot stay here any more. Not after.. " She visibly shied away from mentioning the death. "I have to leave, with you or without. This village is no longer safe for me."

"Don't concern yourself with that." He said over his shoulder. They reached the stable and Carsten went straight for his saddle and saddlebags, opening the left bag and pulling out a book. Thumbing over the pages, he beckoned her closer with the lantern. "Bring it here so I can see." He said.

Frowning, she held the lantern higher, the yellow light spilling over the pages. "I have several lamps in my shop if you want more light."

"This is sufficient." He said as he flipped pages and finally came to an entry that caught his attention. "Ah... Here..." He said, reading over the High Gothic text. He held the book against the saddle and brought up the paper from her uncle's house with the symbol on it. The symbol was strange. A crescent moon with a disgustingly cruel smile on the end of a long stake. The stake proceeded down to a semi circle facing the opposite way as the crescent moon, which was just above a circular base of a grinning face of a beastman. Carsten narrowed his eyes. "We need to find out exactly what your uncle and your father were up to." He said with a grunt before he set the book back into the saddlebag. "I need to know where this map takes us. Can you decipher it?" He asked her, turning back to her and shuffling the papers to the one which seemed like a crude map.

The girl shuddered and turned her head at the sight of the Chaos symbols, swallowing again, her face as pale as fresh cream. "I uuhh.. ," Isolde murmured, taking the map to look at it.

"Yes. That's an old logging trail. It hasn't been used in twenty years. Not since the Emperor, Sigmar keep him, levied a tax for wood. There's a large clearng here and here." she pointed on the crude map. "The youth of the villlage used to go there for fun. Nowdays no one goes there. The rumors of vile creatures in the forest keeps people close to home." She shrugged. "It's about five miles past the farthest farm."

"Then let us be on our way. Come." He said with a nod as he opened the stall and began to saddle up his horse. "I hope you can navigate the way by night." He said with a nod.

"Huh? Wait a minute." She grabbed him by the sleeve. "Give me a few minutes to get some things. I have to leave now, thanks to you," she scowled at him, anger flickering over her face. "I want to have some things with me. I don't have much."

"Very well. Meet me by your smithy." He said with a sharp nod as he finished saddling the horse and mounted up, riding past her out of the stable and moving through town on the beast.

She hurried out of the stables and ran to the smithy, throwing open the doors, she raced up to her room to throw the few items of clothing she had into a leathe rucksack. The blanket, she rolled up and pulled on a old cloak her father had given her before his death. She paused to look around the room for a last time, throwing a few more things into the sack before heading downstairs to put some of her tools in a leather back. Files, a few hammers, chisels, punches and pieces of metal she'd been working on. Lastly, she gathered the food she had, wrapping them in burlap to stuff in her pack. Throwing it over her shoulder, Isolde walked to the door, stopped and turned to look at the dark shop.

The place she'd spent so much time. After a minute, she firmed her jaw and hefting the oil lamp in her hand. threw it at the far wall. The glass shattered, spreading oil over the stone and wooden walls. Quickly it caught fire, illuminating her back as she turned and walked out without a backward look.

The men of the village rushed past to put out the flames even as she stole away to the other end of town. Carsten reached down as she approached and hefted her up onto the horse behind his saddle. "Come on... We haven't time to lose." He said with a frown as they rode on into the woods along the lumber trails. The Forest of Shadows was true to its namesake, and almost immediately, the two were out of sight as the Forest claimed two more in the darkness of its embrace.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Dark Mirror

The horse was growing tired as the two did their best to wind through the darkness of the Forest of Shadows. Their journey was only aided by the light of the stars and the moon shining through the branches of the forest canopy above. Occasionally stopping to use some flint and tinder from Carsten's pack to light one of his pipe tapers, the two stopped and read the map and did their best to judge their position from the village and toward their destination. Carsten's ice blue eye flickered as he held the taper up to the parchment, careful that it did not catch alight, and did his best to read the map as Isolde pointed out the landmarks.

She held on tightly. being unused to riding, Isolde was soon sore and aching. She pointed out the landmarks as best she could in the darkness. Directing him to a old road she thought was the correct one.

They remounted and followed the thin, but overgrown trail into the woods until they came to a dead end in a thicket, surrounded by trees and thick underbrush.

"Damn." Carsten cursed as he dismounted and looked around, once more striking flint and tinder with Isolde holding a taper to catch it alight. It took a while for them to get the paper lit, and Carsten's face screwed up in anger as he looked over the map again. "We're lost..." He said with a grumble as he let Isolde look over the map to confirm it. Wherever they were, there were no noticeable landmarks and the road did not continue.

Isolde's face fell. "I'm sorry, sir. I got lost in the dark. I can guide you to the right place when the sun comes up in the morning. It's just too dark for me to see where we are going." she said, rubbing her aching butt.

"This is as good a place to set up camp as any... It is not your fault girl... Do not blame yourself. We were foolish to ride into the Forest of Shadows in the middle of the night." Carsten replied. "Put that ax of yours to good use. Chop up some brush for a proper fire." He instructed.

Nodding, Isolde turned to cut some wood; trimming the dead branches from several nearby trees and clearing some brush for a place to lie down and build a fire pit. The wood she piled up near Carsten.

When the wood was cut, and he'd unpacked a blanket and rolled up bedroll from his saddle, he sighed, setting to work starting a fire. It might not be the best option, chasing after the remnants of a cult and setting a campfire in the middle of the Forest of Shadows, but Carsten had to admit that the light in and of itself would provide a benefit if something happened. He set to work, finally lighting the wood and getting a fire started, his horse nibbling on some bits of greenery. When the animal was tended to and the fire was going, Carsten finally sat back on the bedroll and sighed. The exhaustion of the entire ordeal hit him like a wave, and all he wanted to do was sleep, but he forced his eyes to stay open, looking out away from the fire, despite moving a bit closer to let its warmth seep into his tired frame.

She helped build the fire, digging the pit deep in the soil. On a flat rock, she set out some of the bread and impaled some of her sausages on a stick to cook, then set out a tin pot with some water to heat. "What will we do now?" she asked, glancing at him as she tended the food. Wincing as her sore legs and rump twinged.

"We wait. We rest. In the morning we try to pick up our trail and find our way back to wherever it was that we were when we went off the trail of the map. We can afford no less." The Witch Hunter spoke as he pulled the brim of his hat back a bit, taking his hat off and running his fingers through his graying hair. Carsten sighed as he sat by the fire and did his best to ward off drowsiness by taking out his pistol and ensuring that it was properly reloaded.

Isolde nodded, handing him some of the food. She ate her portion quickly, washing it down with some hot tea before unrolling the blanket she'd taken with her. "Is it safe to sleep?" The young woman asked, yawning. The day's events clearly having tired her out.

Carsten swallowed and sighed a little bit, taking the food in a small handkerchief as he picked and ate it. "Yes. You get some sleep. If I feel myself dozing off I'll wake you so you can stay up and watch for a bit." He said with a grunt and a nod toward her. "You need the rest more than I do I'd wager." He spoke to her.

Isolde nodded. yawning. Pulling a blanket over her, she lay on the bedroll and quickly fell into an exhausted sleep.

The night moved on. The stars danced their slow purposeful pageant in the sky above, and Carsten kept a vigil, nodding off only occasionally, and cursing himself whenever he felt his head lowering. He'd done enough to Isolde von Kessel and didn't need to do more. The least he could afford her was a night's rest. Each time he felt his eyes droop however, he wondered if he had just woken up or if he'd fallen asleep for a while. There was no way for him to tell. He occasionally tossed another log onto the fire, keeping it burning as he stared out into the darkness around them, doing his best to stay alert. He was certain that his fatigue was catching up to him, since he heard voices in hushed whispers just out of his vision. Three, four maybe, all speaking in a guttural language. He was about to dismiss it when a twig snapped and brought him out of the half-sleep and half awake state of his watch. Carefully he grabbed his pistol and lay down. There was no denying it. There was something out there and there was no way he could warn Isolde without springing the trap. The best that Carsten could hope for was that they were just passing through the night and that they would leave the camp alone and be on their way, whoever they happened to be.

She slept soundly. A long day of smithing and then the happenings after the Witch Hunter arrived and the long ride afterward had taken their toll on Isolde. Every so often, she moved in her sleep, rolling from one side to the other, sometimes murmuring something before falling into a deeper sleep.

Carsten laid near enough that he could reach over with his boot and poke her with the toe, pushing it into her back as he laid there, doing his best to wake her.

She rolled over, muttering something. Sprawled on her left side, her arm thrown out, draped across the handle of the ax, one finger extending outward.

The Witch Hunter grunted and snorted a bit softly as he lay by the fire. He waited and listened. Silence was all that came from the Forest of Shadows. Carsten thought about that and realized it meant one of two things. Either they had moved on, whomever they were, or they were about to -

He couldn't finish his thought as four Beastmen burst through the trees and underbrush with a loud crash, charging into their camp.

"UP!" Carsten shouted to make sure Isolde was awake. The man's wakefulness took their ambushers aback and he had time to level his pistol and fire, blasting a hole into the chest of one Beastman, felling him with a grunt.

Isolde's hand closed around the ax handle and she sat up, swinging the ax in a wide circle at knee height. She used the momentum to lurch to her knees, swinging the ax around her in broad strokes. Using the strength that years of blacksmithing had given her.

The three remaining Beastmen attacked, two on Carsten and one against Isolde, wielding a large mace. It spat at her in a foul guttural tongue that set her skin to crawling. It brought the mace down to smash into Isolde even as she was standing.

Carsten squared off against the other two, reversing his grip on the pistol and holding it by the barrel as his rapier flashed and collided against an ax swung in his direction by one of the two Beastmen. Bringing the pistol butt down like a mallet against one of the abomination's wrists, he was rewarded with a satisfying crack and a yowl of pain. He lashed out with one foot, kicking at the leg of the other Beastman, sending it skittering backwards to avoid being tripped. As it left, Carsten was free to plunge his rapier into its fellow, killing the creature as it dropped to the earth, freeing Carsten to deal with his remaining assailant.

Screaming in fear, Isolde leaped to the side. Spinning to raise her ax to strike at the Beastman. Seeing it charging her, she stepped forward and swung with all of her strength at it's head. A fool's move, but if she struck...

Her bold action was rewarded as the head of the ax buried itself into the skull of the creature, making it twitch as its skull bled and bits of its brain came out with the vital fluid. The creature twitched as it fell, dead.

She yanked the ax out, spinning to see if anything more was going to attack. Her eyes wide in the darkness.

Carsten fought against the remaining Beastman, parrying the ax blows and stepping to the side when he couldn't, lashing out with the pistol, he was slowly being forced back. The Beastman's attacks pushing the Witch Hunter back closer and closer to the fire.

Silently, Isolde stepped up behind the last Beastman and swung at it's back. "Die!"

The ax-head buried itself in the Beastman's spine with a crunch, its eyes going wide before the life faded from them and it pitched forward, collapsing and driving Carsten back to avoid being pinned underneath.

Snarling silently, she yanked the ax out, the head dark with matted air and blood. Isolde's eyes were wide in her pale face as she spun to see if there were more attackers.

The small clearing that was home to their camp was empty save for the bodies of the slain, the two of them, and Carsten's horse which was spooked with the intensity of the skirmish. Carsten walked about to each, plunging his rapier into each one of the beasts to ensure that they were dead before he began to search their bodies. Turning over the one that had fallen first to his pistol shot, he gasped.

She sat down suddenly. The adrenaline rush of combat fading and the shock of what had happened weighed upon her like a heavy yoke. She looked at the Witch Hunter when he gasped. "What?"

"We may be lost... But we're closer than we thought we were." Carsten said, snapping the leather thong around the Beastman's neck and holding up a small charm in the light of the fire for her to see. The dangling piece of bronze jewelry matched the symbol from her uncle's papers.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The Light of Truth

The rest of the night passed uneventfully, but not restfully. When Carsten awoke from his light slumber, he offered a silent prayer to Sigmar. He turned over and shook Isolde as the sunlight occasionally dipped through the tree line and the two of them had quite a bit of business to attend to. The first of which was ensuring that they were no longer lost, and the second of which was to investigate the papers that her uncle left behind. Carsten turned to his horse and put the saddle back on the beast's back over the blanket, brushing out his horse's mane as Isolde woke up from his prompting.

"Make yourself ready to travel. We must be about our business." He said.

Isolde numbly cleaned her ax and returned to a restless sleep. It was light and she got little rest, so when he woke her, she sat up, red-eyed and tired. She nodded, rose to relieve herself behind a bush and packed up her few belonging.

"I'm ready, sir." Isolde said, determinedly not looking at the dried splatters of blood and gore from the brief fight.

"Good... We have to use the light while we can and see if we can't find the trail that leads to your uncle and fathers' cult activities. Cults don't just spring up without any outside influence. There has to be some connection beyond your father and your uncle. I aim to find out what it is." He said with a nod as he mounted up and reached down to bring her up onto the horse's back behind him. The two rode back, doing their best to remember the trail from last night, losing their way only occasionally before quickly finding it again. Once they were back to the main trail, he pulled the map out of a pocket and looked at the crossroads. "I think this is where we turned wrongly." He stated before sliding the map back into the pocket of his long duster, tapping his heels against his horse's flanks and leading the horse forward down the unexplored branch that the map indicated.

Nodding, she climbed up in the horse with his help. She settled behind him in the saddle, checking to make sure her ax was secure across her back. Isolde shivered as she remembered what she'd done with it. Swallowing hard, she held onto him, pressing her face against the Witch Hunter's broad back. Once they were back at the road, she pointed out the correct way.

"Yes. We missed that and took this way by mistake. We need to go further that way before we reach the old road," she said.

Carsten nodded to her, bringing the horse down the proper trail, heading slowly along as he approached ever closer to the X on the small hand-scrawled map. As they drew closer to the gathering place, Carsten took his horse off the trail, leading it into the underbrush and shadowed the trail, quietly leading his horse within sight of the trail, but behind the cover of the bushes that grew alongside. A growing sense of dread grew in his heart as the two of them moved along as quietly as possible.

Isolde was quiet as they rode along. The silence pressed on her nerves and she bit her lip to distract herself. She didn't really know what was going on, but she knew -something- was going to happen.

The treeline was quite thick, and ahead the trail seemed to widen far too much for a course change, indicating a clearing ahead. He stepped off the horse, dismounting with Isolde as he tied the horse to a branch of a nearby tree, withdrawing his pistol and rapier as he crept through the woods quietly and slowly.

Getting off the horse, Isolde held her axe in her hand, checking to make sure her knife was ready at her hip. Then she followed the Witch Hunter as quietly as possible. Moving very quietly for a woman of her strength.

They approached the clearing and hid under the cover of the trees and undergrowth, Carsten parting a branch ever so slightly to get a better view so he could see what was in the clearing. A large granite slab surrounded by small black stones in a wide ring dominated the clearing, the X on the map. No one seemed to be anywhere about, so Carsten stepped forward, quietly parting the branches and investigating further. Something caught his eye. Resting on the far edge of the granite slab, was a book. He approached warily, pausing as he stepped up to the edge of the circle of black stones and then cautiously moved inside the circle.

Isolde chewed her lip nervously as she crept along behind Carsten. At the edge of the clearing, her eyes opened wide.

"That wasn't there the last time I was here a few years ago," she whispered in his ear. Quickly she examined the clearing, noticing a few things. "It's not overgrown. Someone has been here recently." When he stepped out in the clearing, Isolde stayed where she was, kneeling hand on the handle of her ax.

"Someone must have been here since your father and uncle. They must have set this up and this must be the fruits of the plans with whomever they were working with." Carsten said, noting that there were more than a few blood stains on the top of the granite slab. A grisly clue as to what had happened here. He walked to the other end of the slab where the book lay and looked at the slightly moldy pages. He looked at the black ink of the writing and his eyes widened as the curves and lines of the text began to wiggle and change, altering into gibberish.

"Sorcery!" He hissed and used his pistol to flip the book shut. The book fell down from the slab with the force of the slam and fell to the ground with a thud. He glared at it, undecided on exactly what was needed here to cleanse this area. If he should destroy it himself, return for aid from Ostland's ruler, or wait to see who was maintaining this place.

Carefully she crept out into the clearing to his side. She started back at his cry of 'Sorcery!', covering her cry with a hand over her mouth.

"Oh Dadda.. you fool! Why did you have to get involved with this...," Isolde whispered, tears sparking in her eyes. To keep Carsten from seeing her tears, she turned away from the altar. The hand on her mouth stifling the sobs that began to wrack her.

"We must keep watch. Find out who was behind this with your father and uncle. This book is not harmed by the elements and was left here recently. We have to end this now and find out whatever clues we can to bring them to the Grand Theogonist so this can be investigated properly by more than just us." Carsten reasoned out. As he was deciding what to do, a snap of twigs and a rustle of braches off to the side caught his attention. Without thinking, Carsten moved to Isolde quietly and swiftly, clapping a hand over her mouth as he led her away and back toward the brush on the opposite side of the clearing. He quieted her down and held a finger up to his lips as they crouched behind several bushes.

She nodded as he spoke, crouching down, both hands over her mouth as tears ran down her cheeks. The snapping twig wasn't heard by the young woman, but she almost screamed when he grabbed her and barely managed to keep a hold of her ax as he dragged her behind a bush. Tears wet Isolde's cheeks, but she nodded at his warning and crouched behind the bush, wiping her eyes.

From the opposite side of the clearing, in the direction that the twig snapped, there stepped a large human man, holding an gnarled and twisted staff. Long nails, rail spikes, were stuck through his skin in dozens of places as obscene piercings over his half nude body. Four other figures followed him, on carrying a large familiar looking body. The four figures were in various states of dress and mutation. One had a large lobster-like claw extending from his forearm, another's skin was covered in scales. The body they carried to the altar was laid out on it. Olaf. The villager he'd killed for his nigh heretical interference the night before.

She covered her mouth again when she saw Olaf's body being brought forth. The Chaos warped cultists made Isolde want to vomit, she settled for stuffing the side of her hand in her mouth. Nauseated, she looked at her companion, the Witch Hunter.

Carsten watched with rapt attention, his single good eye focusing, taking in everything through the parted branches as the cultist with the staff looked at the book laying on the ground, frowning a bit. He studied it for a time, but merely bent to retrieve it and brought it to the slab where it had been resting before, flipping page after page.

"We have lost our brethren, but the town of Windhaven is not closed to us. But we must ensure that we are not discovered my brothers. There is one who brings fire and death in the town." He cautioned his companions as he found the page he was looking for and his lips curled into a grin, an unnaturally long grin resultant from his cheeks being split open to elongate his mouth.

Isolde crouched lower, making sure her ax blade was on the ground. As the cultist spoke, she glanced at Carsten. Not sure what he was going to do.

If there was something Carsten wanted her to do besides watch, he gave no indication. The Witch Hunter watched as the body of Olaf lay on the slab and the cultist began to speak words in a guttural and wholly unnatural tongue. Carsten's face blanched and he seemed to be made physically ill by the very sound of the words just from their inherent wrongness.

She paled. The language just felt.. wrong. Words that shouldn't be pronounceable by a human tongue fell from the cultist's mouth. The young woman gripped the handle of her ax hard enough her knuckles turned white.

Olaf's body twitched as magical energies made the hair on the back of Carsten's neck stand on end. And then Olaf's body began to change. The veins under his skin inflated, making long impressions on his skin, turning dark, almost black from the power of whatever ritual was being performed. The black stones in the ring around the granite slab seemed to glow, like polished black pearls. Olaf's body shivered and shuddered as the magic took hold of him. He arched his back on the slab and his mouth fell open in a high pitched screech.

Isolde shivered, crouching lower, hand over her mouth as she watched, horrified, the body change and warp. The urge to scream, run or vomit grew as the body twisted on the altar.

Paling, Isolde stood up and followed the Witch Hunter out. Staying behind the frightening man. Her ax held at the ready.

The large mutated cultists charged down the Witch Hunter. Carsten snarled as he drew his rapier and let them charge him down, backing up a bit so that Isolde could perhaps help him from behind as she had with the Beastmen the night before. He raised his rapier and the used it to fend off the unarmed cultists.

Backing up, Isolde crouched behind a large bush, gripping her ax in a white-knuckled grip. The cultists were a more serious threat than the Beastmen from the night and she knew she had to strike hard and accurately, or they'd both die or worse.

Thrusting and parrying and slashing with his rapier, Carsten kept the two off balance as much as he could while the third and the body of Olaf, possessed by some form of unholy energy, stood back.

Isolde stayed back and when shed thought the two cultists where thoroughly focused on Carsten, she stood and raising her ax up, stepped to the closest cultist and swung it down as hard as she could at it's upper back.

The mutated cultist cried out in pain as the ax bit deep into the abomination's back. He squirmed and his dark eyes turned on her as he twisted about before falling down, dead. His compatriot turned to this new threat and made that his last, fatal error, as Carsten ran him through, his rapier sliding into the flesh and out through his scaly chest. Carsten raised his boot even as the beast fell, and kicked out to push the creature off his blade. "The blasted sorceror! Come on!" He shouted as he dashed through the tree line toward the clearing. The sorceror, however, had fled, as had the large hulking form of Olaf, possessed as he was. The book was gone.

"Damn!" He cursed.

She cursed, hitting the downed bodies several more times. She did -not- want them getting back up, she thought as the edge of her ax severed the necks. At Carsten's shout, her head snapped up and she swore quietly as she followed the Witch Hunter. When they entered the clearing, she looked around for the sorcerer.

The clearing was bare save for the stones.

"He let his compatriots die so he could get away. We have to make sure that this site can't be used again." He said softly as he looked at the granite slab and black rock circle.

Swallowing hard, Isolde nodded. "I have a long handled forging hammer. We can use it to break the stones, or chip them." she said, wiping off her ax and avoiding looking at the butchered corpses at her feet.

Carsten and nodded to her. "Yes. Get to it. I'll do what I can." He said as he began shifting the black round stones into a pile.

Nodding, she hurried back to the horse. There she retrieved the long handled hammer. The head more like small sledge. Retying the pack, she tied it to the saddle, then ran back to the Witch Hunter and at his direction, began trying to break some of the stones.

He looked at the stone slab. "This must be destroyed as well. Do you have a chisel by chance?" Carsten asked her as he turned over toward her. The Witch Hunter turned his attention back to the granite altar. The entire ritual site had to be destroyed.

Isolde nodded, then shook her head. "I have metal chisels. No stone cutting ones. I'm a blacksmith, not a stone cutter," she said, Examining the altar stone, she lifted the hammer up high and brought it down on an edge, several inches in. she did this several times before breaking off part of it. This was repeated several times and soon she had a decent pice of a corner broken. a small part of the slab, but it was a start.

He nodded. "We'll have to -" Carsten started as the brush crashed nearby. Something large was coming through the forest. "Go... The horse!" He hissed, pushing her toward the brush as he covered their escape, jogging behind her a bit.

Isolde was beating on another corner when the brush shook and Carsten grabbed her arm. She ran in front of him, grabbing her axe as she passed it. She didn't want to be unarmed.

He pushed her ahead, keeping himself between her and whatever was crashing through the brush toward the empty clearing. Enough of the stones and the altar itself had been destroyed, so Carsten moved to the horse and mounted up, reaching down and gripping her arm to pull her up behind him. He kicked the horse's sides to get the animal moving. Neither of them wanted to be around to find out what it was moving through the woods.  
Heart in her mouth, she ran to the horse. Letting him mount, then climbed up and swung in behind him. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. She did not want to fall off now.

They rode hard through the woods, making it back to the trail and riding hard toward the village of Windhaven. They had to report this to the Grand Theogonist and the Church of Sigmar. Ostland was in danger.

"Bah..." Said the guttural voice of the sorceror. The large twisted and mutated body of Olaf, more of a demon than the man he once was, towered over the ruined and nearly destroyed cult altar.

"They have set back our plans for now, but they will pay. The power of Slaanesh and Chaos Undivided will overcome them, and they will belong to us in the end." He said as Olaf opened his mouth and let out a screech in agreement.

A soft breeze blew through the clearing, slight purple mist rising off of the altar.

"Lethke..." Whispered a voice on the breeze. The cultist blinked and turned toward the altar, eyes widening.

"Wha?" He asked in confusion.

"Lethke, my servant..." Said the voice as the purple mist increased, twisting wistfully and languidly on the breeze as it coalesced.

"Ahhh... Slaanesh... My lord..." Lethke, the cultist sorceror knelt down and groveled.

"Lethke, our forces draw near, yet I sense that our preparations in the Empire are not complete." Said the hissing voice of the daemonette representing Slaanesh, manifesting in the purple mist.

"Ahhh.. A uh... A setback my lord... The proper army of hosts and slaves will be prepared when your army lands and takes the coast of Ostland. I swear it." Lethke spoke hurriedly.

"You had best not lie to our lord Slaanesh Lethke... Those who fail him are not killed, but serve for his unending delight in new forms of pain." The Daemonette spoke.

"No! No! Lord Slaanesh's army in Ostland will be prepared." He spoke nervously as the mist disappeared with the breeze.

"Our plans must be rectified to compensate for this setback..." Lethke hissed to the possessed mutated corpse of Olaf. "Come!" He shouted before turning back to the forest.

The cultist and possessed creature dashed off to undertake their foul work while Carsten and Isolde raced off into the face of an encroaching storm.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Blood Bonds

For days they'd ridden hard to make it to the Principality of Ostland's capital city of Wolfenburg. The black and white pennants proudly displaying the red bull of Ostland fluttered in the breeze over the parapets of the rebuilt walls. The large city was certainly not Altdorf, and in the wake of the Chaos incursions, Wolfenburg had suffered immeasurably, but there the pennants snapped in the wind as it switched directions, as if they were soldiers themselves, proudly standing in the face of overwhelming opposition as Ostland and the other nations of the Empire had done against the vile forces of Chaos.

Carsten was tired, his eyes bloodshot as they rode to the gates. Two Empire Halberdiers stepped up and one grabbed the bridle of his horse as the other approached. "Ho there. Who are you? And what is your business in Wolfenburg friend?" The guard asked.

Pulling out the small iron badge of the twin tailed comet, Sigmar's holy symbol, he showed it to the guard. "I have come to speak to the Prince's court on a very urgent matter. Please in the name of Sigmar, let me pass." Carsten said tiredly, the strain from the past few days evident on his face. The guard looked at him for a moment, studying him before he nodded to his fellow and they let the two ride on through the gate.

Isolde was exhausted. The days long ride had left her sore and tired. The events of the last few days were enough to wear on the mind of anyone and for Isolde it was especially hard. So she clung to the Witch Hunter as they rode. At the gates, she looked at the guards, exhaustion etched on her features.

They rode through the city streets, stopping to ask a guardsman for directions until they were directed to a Cathedral of Sigmar. The stones still showed scorch-marks from the siege that the city had endured, but like the faith itself, the Cathedral was a testament to the unbreakable nature of the Empire. The two of them rode up and Carsten dismounted, reaching up to help her down from the horse's back.

She held on for the last of the ride. Barely seeing the tall stone houses of the city. When they stopped at the Cathedral, Isolde looked up, blinking as she forced some of her fatigue back, and sighed. "We're here?" The young woman groaned when Carsen slid off the horse and when he helped her down, she cried out as her legs collapsed under her. They were too weak and sore to support her.

His arm snaked around her waist and caught her. "We're here for now... We'll get you inside and we'll have a rest before talking to the Priest of Sigmar and then gaining an audience with His Majesty the Grand Prince." Said Carsten sighing as he nodded a bit and helped his exhausted companion move into the halls of the Church. Several Acolytes, upon seeing them enter the temple, moved to assist the two very weary travelers.

"Gods.. I can't feel my legs!" She said in a pained voice as she held onto him. So tired was she, Isolde didn't even think about her brand. All she wanted was to lie down so she could rest her aching legs and backside.

"You'll be better soon." He said softly as the acolytes took the two of them away to a hostelry that the Church had set up for travelers associated with the Church of Sigmar. With tired eyes and achingly numb muscles, Carsten stripped off as much of his clothing as he could manage and twisted his feet from the riding boots he wore to lay back in bed and fall into a deep and immediate sleep.

Isolde managed to pull off her boots and vest before collapsing on the bed into an exhausted sleep. As she slept, her dreams turned dark and twisted and she saw that terrible day again. Reliving it again and again. While she slept, she moaned, clawing at the bedding as she rolled onto her stomach fitfully in the dreamscape.

It was mid afternoon when Carsten finally awoke and got a chance to speak to the high priest of Sigmar for Wolfenburg. He explained everything. His mission, his investigation, and the clues that it had led to, including the altercation with the heretics in the forest clearing and their subsequent destruction of the ritual site.

When he finished explaining, the aging priest frowned and his brow furrowed as he took in and weighed the words of the Witch Hunter.

"Grave times. These are grave times indeed when Chaos is once again at our doorstep. We must get you to the Grand Prince at once." The priest said with a nod. "Wake your companion if she is not already awake already and prepare yourself. After his evening meal, we will see the Prince." The priest resolved and dismissed Carsten.

Isolde woke up in pain. Her legs had stiffened so when she moved, they sent stabs of intense pain into her body. It took the young woman almost half an hour to get out of bed and move to relieve herself. By the time the suns was nearing the horizon, she was moving easier. It still hurt to move, but her legs didn't feel like they would fall out from under her. As she waited, she washed and quickly wiped down her clothing. The sturdy clothing she'd worn her entire life suddenly seemed provincial in the capital. So she was waiting when Carsten knocked.

He knocked on her door and blinked a bit when she opened it. "I hope you slept well. We have an audience this evening with the Grand Prince... He will undoubtedly ask questions about the incident and I think it would be best if you were there with me to answer them." He said to her with a slight nod.

"I ache in places I didn't know I had, but I can walk and sit. Don't ask me to ride anytime soon." She said, clearly in pain, but bearing up well. Isolde glanced around, biting her lip. "There is a problem... I've never had a meal with any nobility. I don't know how to eat like they do and my clothing.." Plucking at her shirt, she looked at him. It was clean and well made, but clearly made for hard work and not more pleasant company.

"Well we've both got something in common with each other there. We'll be seeing him after his evening meal so we'll be dining here with the priests of Sigmar and then be on our way to the audience." He said with a slight smile. "If you wish to rest more, do so, I'll summon you before we eat if you so desire." He told her.

"Eat dinner with the Prince in this?" She asked, appalled as she plucked her shirt hem. "You can be excused. You're a Witch Hunter. Me? I'm just a peasant. It's very improper that I be seen at the Grand Prince's table, let alone eating dinner with him.."

"Then we'll find you something..." Carsten furrowed his brow. "We must be there, however. The Prince is keenly interested in what has been going on in your village. What we uncovered." He said.

Isolde stretched, grimacing. "Or that. I would like to rest. Can we do it quick?"

"Yes. Come with me. We'll find you something to wear." Carsten said with a sharp nod and offered her his arm.

The brown haired woman took his arm and let him guide her. She was more concerned at being able to walk with some semblance of a normal stride, but she knew that she looked ridiculous. Riding several days on a horse non-stop for the first time was not the best way to do it.

Carsten escorted her to the marketplace, occasionally looking over his shoulder in the crowded markets of Wolfenburg. Now and again, a man in a brown leather jerkin with dark hair and patch covering his left eye appeared behind them. Carsten frowned, and kept a hand on the pommel of his rapier.


End file.
